


Sandwich Bites

by felandaris



Series: Caboodles and Chantry Boys [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Chantry Boys, Consensual Sex, Double Penetration, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Inspired by Music, M/M, Nipple Play, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Pornstar!Alistair, Pornstar!Cullen, Smut, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, three-way kiss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-05-19 08:25:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 10,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5960695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felandaris/pseuds/felandaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short Tumblr drabbles featuring Cullen, Alistair and Trevelyan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Droplets (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this rather inspiring NSFW image.](http://cullenstairshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/136776552295/this-is-what-happens-when-pictures-such-as-the)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OblivionScribe and Botticella89.

 

The candles’ flicker is reflected a hundredfold in the countless drops of bath water. Some have dispersed into narrow streams trickling down the round expanse of the backside they adorn.

Cullen sets out to work. He leans in, tracing the buttock’s contour with his bottom lip. Once at the top his tongue darts out to catch the first plump droplet. Alistair squirms on his towel.

The Commander grins and licks a line between two particularly inviting freckles, soaking up the sallow skin’s taste of soap and of _more_. He kisses and slurps his way towards the middle. The thin strawberry blonde curls there are easily missed, but he manages to catch one between his teeth. His smile widens at the jerk of Alistair’s hips.

Moving on to the other buttock, he laps up the clear wet. Traces a few lazy circles with the tip of his tongue before he sucks hard, drawing the flesh into his mouth.

Alistair winces, his head rising from his forearms. His tone is playful. “What are you doing, Commander?” When Cullen continues unfazed, he hums and lies back down.

Once Cullen is finished he inspects the crimson blotch then soothes it with a few long laps. “All mine.”

That coaxes a chuckle from His Majesty. “Property of the Inquisition, is it? Don’t think I’d mind that _quite_ so much.”

Cullen smirks, giving the faintest lick along the very centre, growling at Alistair’s shocked gasp. Then he braces his arms and legs on either side of him, leaving them chest to back, muscle against muscle and skin to skin.

At once he feels Alistair’s warmth, his pulse, inhales his scent. He’s left dizzy and intoxicated, moans at the twitch in his cock that’s so snugly seated against Alistair’s cleft. Two, three rolls of his hips leave no doubt as to where he’d like to be right now. The water between their bodies makes for a smooth, slick glide, and when he stills they’re both panting, _starved_ for each other. Alistair’s eyes are closed, his lips parted in a silent plea, and Cullen knows he’s just as hard as he.

A few quick flicks of the tongue up a shoulder, his neck and finally his earlobe have Alistair mewling, his whole body shuddering. Cullen cannot help a groan of his own at the shameless display.

He brushes aside a ginger lock, presses a tender kiss atop Alistair’s head. When he speaks his voice is thick with lust.

“ _Turn around_.”


	2. Untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Cullen and Alistair drabble based on [this slightly NSFW image](http://cullenstairshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/138881059013/stop-that-alistair-hisses-what-the-corner%22)

“Stop that,” Alistair hisses.

  
“What?” The corner of Cullen’s mouth lifts along with his eyebrow into _that_ smirk- an extra smug version of it.

  
“ _This_?” His innocent tone is thoroughly betrayed by the assertive snap of his teeth as they catch Alistair’s earlobe again, and by Cullen’s chuckle at the yelp he evokes.

  
“We’ll never get out of here,” Alistair laments, weakly, leaning into Cullen, gasping as hard flesh meets hard flesh.

  
“I fail to see the issue, _Your Majesty_.” Cullen’s growl drowns out the wooden creak as they tumble onto the bed, rolling around; wrestling playfully, flirtatiously, before he settles on top of Alistair.

  
Taking in the pliant, willing body underneath him, the flushed skin and swollen lips, he grins again.

  
They really haven’t a hope of getting out.


	3. Cullen, Trevelyan and Alistair headcanons (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some headcanons for my favourite sandwich.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published 24 October 2015. Excluding gift fics, I'm re-posting my shorter drabbles as part of this collection rather than standalone pieces. All your lovely comments have been saved on my computer because they mean a lot to me. Thanks for understanding!  
> [Sizziling hot NSFW art by botticella89](http://botticella89.tumblr.com/post/124602148797/inquiscullistair)

**Cullen**  goes down on Trevelyan like an absolute champ. It’s like he is addicted to her taste and can barely go a day without it. He’s become very assertive at it, knows exactly what to do and enjoys it immensely.  Watching Alistair do the same to his love has him fascinated. He might even have copied his technique a little.

He likes being in control, have her at his mercy, see and feel her reactions to his naughty whispers (which he likes to think he’s gotten pretty good at). He’s starting to feel the same way about Alistair and enjoys driving him to the brink with his teasing. 

When he proposed this  _menage a trois_  he hadn’t planned to touch Alistair. It took him a little while (though not as long as expected) to come to terms with his enjoing another man. The first time their explorations went beyond kissing he hesitated at first but then he threw himself into it, couldn’t resist. Alistair has that effect on him. One day he might try using more than just his hands.

 

 **Alistair** is noisy when using his mouth. He makes these little groany, mewly sounds, as if he’s enjoying a particularly delicious meal. He’d have never expected to pleasure a woman like this again so he throws all of himself into it. The first time she started shuddering under his mouth was pure magic to him.

Now and then he dreams about the first time he kissed Cullen. He surprised himself by not being all too surprised about his attraction to him. A bit of uncertainty remains when they touch, and they haven’t gone as far with each other as they have with Trevelyan or other women. He’s happy with the way things are, however.  

To think that his trip to Skyhold would have ended with  this experience, this secret little relationship that they’re still maintaining, makes him grin to himself. He’d love to have someone to confide into but knows that isn’t possible. Hence he’s even happier to have won the two of them as friends as well as lovers. 

At a point in his life where he’d become cynical over the prolongued loneliness he’d have never expected for these two, who are obviously very much in love with each other, to allow him in and share their love. It’s been the biggest, most unexpected blessing since he met Elissa all those years ago. Sometimes he’ll tell them stories about her, and they listen with such interest and affection it can bring tears to his eyes.

 

 **Trevelyan** never knew she needed this relationship with Alistair until they both arrived in her quarters that night. Cullen’s proposal had surprised her, and she wasn’t sure what to expect. The second she felt his touch, though, she knew she craved him.

She likes watching the boys go about it. Their shy explorations turn her on like little else. She’d like them to do dare and do a little more but she won’t push them.

The one time they made love with both of them inside her was one of the most intense things she’s ever experienced. But she also enjoys having just their hands and mouths caress her for ages. She makes a little game of keeping her eyes closed and guessing who is caressing her where.

There’s a tiny sting of sadness, not quite pity, in her chest whenever Alistair pulls back so he won’t get her with child.

She likes to think of the two as her  _chantry boys_ \- raised in regal devotion to the faith, still believers. Seeing them shed all the indoctrinated timidness delights her.

 

 **Outside the bedroom t** he three enjoy whatever time they get to spend together. Cullen and Alistair have developed a surprisngly deep friendship given they don’t see each other that often. They’re very comfortable teasing each other, especially since it really makes Trevelyan crack up. Together the three enjoy having meals in private. Alistair has very much passed on his love of cheese to Cullen, and the two can go on for hours sampling new flavours and arguing about their favourites. 

Cullen, in turn, has gotten Alistair into playing chess- something the king had always believed himself a little too simple to do. Now they enjoy their rare matches, and he’s sure Alistair practices when he’s at home in Denerim. The first time he beat Cullen he was unberably smug for the rest of the day, much to Trevelyan’s amusement.

Now and then Trevelyan will sing to them before they all fall asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got any headcanons to add? Let me know- they might inspire something!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Fics related to these headcanons:**
> 
>  
> 
> [Diplomatic Ties (Cullen proposing threesome)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3225017)
> 
>  
> 
> [Musings of a Royal Bastard (Alistair's thoughts)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3700610)
> 
>  
> 
> [Occasions (Alistair noisily pleasuring Trevelyan/Trevelyan singing a lullaby)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3780355/chapters/8406676)
> 
>  
> 
> [Observations (The boys taking it further/Trevelyan singing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4831235)


	4. Leisure (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our trio spend some time at the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published 01 September 2015. Excluding gift fics, I'm re-posting my shorter drabbles as part of this collection rather than standalone pieces. All your lovely comments have been saved on my computer because they mean a lot to me. Thanks for understanding!

Fluffy clouds draw a lazy trail across the afternoon sky’s immaculate blue. A quiet breeze carries the faint smell of salt and algae. The waves are louder, their soothing splashes ringing through the hot air.

 

Trevelyan sits up on the blanket she’s been lying on. A timid ray of sunshine sneaks in under the hand she uses to shield her eyes, squinting as she takes in the scene before her.

 

The beach is deserted, wild. _Stunning_. A row of rocks sits to one side of the small bay, withstanding the waves as they have been for centuries. Golden sand is tinted a soggy beige by the Waking Sea’s gentle tides. Behind her, tall dunes provide welcome shade from the sun’s blaze that has given her arms a pleasant tint.

 

She’s uncertain which of them pulled what strings to get out here- on their own, with the nearest guard well out of sight and earshot. But she won’t dwell on it; she has learned to cherish these rare escapes, those precious pockets of time away from work, duty and pressure.

 

Sill admiring the majestic display of nature, she rubs her feet against each other, the scrape of fine sand grains unusual on her soles.

 

A smile finds its way into her eyes, then her lips when, _at last_ , two figures emerge from the water, becoming clearer as they move towards her.

 

Drenched and happy, Cullen and Alistair are in their smalls, leaving damp footprints. Pearly drops adorn their toned figures, and fine patches of hair cling to tight torsos. Trevelyan wonders if their skin will taste salty after drying off.

 

She can’t help an affectionate chuckle as they come jogging her way. King and Commander, two of Thedas’ most powerful men, have been in the water for most of the afternoon, messing around like a pair of boys. This is the first she’s seen of them in at least an hour. The sight of them so playful, so careless warms her heart.

 

They call out to her, beckoning to join them. She stands, flinches at her first step on the searing sand.

 

As she closes the distance they stop, waiting for her. Cullen almost topples over when Alistair, without warning, takes a few steps back then _jumps_ on to him, thighs locking around his trim waist, freckled arms holding on. She shakes her head, giggling. Both wave, still a good twenty feet away.

 

Her light dress comes off in a fluid motion as she keeps walking. The band follows, drawing immediate attention even from the distance. Trevelyan cocks an eyebrow, sticking her hip out. _And now_?

 

Then it’s a moment’s silence as Alistair’s mouth brushes Cullen’s ear, and they whisper to one another. Cautious curiosity makes her stop in her tracks _. Are they scheming again_?

 

She isn’t allowed another second’s thought. Alistair is back standing, and suddenly both come running towards her. Trevelyan yelps when she’s swept up; scenery flashes by as she’s carried towards the shore. Next there are two hands under her back, two holding her legs.

 

Her shriek rings shrill as she’s flung into the turquoise wet. Then she’s under, sound drowning out, crashing into a shock of cold. When her feet find muddy softness she rises, gasping, laughing.

 

They’re there immediately, one in front, one behind her. Smoothing soaked tresses from her face; pulling her between them; mumbling half-hearted apologies between cackles.

 

The water has calmed down, soft waves splashing just above her chest. Her skin, her flesh, her nipples are pulled taut by its chill.

 

A salty sting is blurring her vision. Not caring, she leans into the embrace of strong, slippery arms, whose it doesn’t matter.

 

She’s no longer standing, and through half-open eyes sees their smalls floating just like she is. Her hands spread out, reaching, finding muscles, heat and hardness.

 

Lips touch upon hers; tongues stroke, warm and sweet.

 

Above and below the surface, not one part of her remains without caress. They’re on her shoulders, breasts, her cleft; biting, suckling, probing. She hums in bliss, wants to stay like this.

 

_They_ kiss, their masculine touch rougher yet just as tender, stoking her desire, making her throb. She opens wider.

 

Then she’s being filled, sinks down then rises up again; slow, weightless and deep, _so deep_.

 

Time vanishes along with all of life’s complications. Everything is water, quiet energy and lust.

 

They glide against, into each other with ease. She clings to both their bodies, determined to never let them go again.

 

Hips, hands; thrusting, pumping. Groans, sighs and sensation.

 

Licking, lapping, grinding; finding dreamy ecstasy in each other.

 

Twitches, raspy affirmations and sticky warmth. Completion.

 

Then it's flushed cheeks, languid kisses, a stolen yawn.

 

They stay there for a long while, entangled in each other, swaying up and down with the water’s gentle rise and fall. Drifting under the sun’s warm tickle.

 

Happy.


	5. Untitled (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teeny drabble based on Oblivionscribe's [gorgeous art](http://oblivionscribe.tumblr.com/post/137756236157/cullenstairshenanigans-oblivionscribe) of the boys.

It’s in the sounds they produce- the creak of wood, the hasty rustle of fabric, moans and breaths and grunts.

In the saltiness of the other’s skin, in the dainty bead of sweat crawling down his temple.

The rhythm, the dance of their bodies; in how they arch, mould into each other.

But it’s also in the silent cry, the parted lips, that grimace of pain blending into overwhelming pleasure.

In how he gives himself, all of him.

And it’s certainly in the giddy smiles, the lazy play of feet; those little communications rendering all words insufficient.

It’s from all these sweet trivialities that they know this is meant to be.


	6. Bliss (NSFW-ish)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My first ever Patreon prompt for the lovely [gaurdian9sunshine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gaurdian9sunshine/pseuds/gaurdian9sunshine), herself a purveyor of super sweet fluff. She asked for OT3 afterglow cuddles. ^__^

Boneless. Beat. Blooming with flush. Cullen’s exhale is slow and deliberate, soothing warmth filling his body for every bit of air leaving him.

He’s on his side, face half-wedged into the pit of an arm that’s resting under his neck. Not that he minds. Alistair will be departing tomorrow ( _or is that later today?_ ), and they won’t meet again for at least another month. Any memory of him will be precious, whether it’s his chest’s ebb and tide; the flutter of his steadying breath; the sweet musk of their joining. _Or a sly taste_. Cullen grins as his tongue flicks out to tickle a tuft of ginger fluff. Alistair flinches, one sluggish lid half-lifting for his best attempt at a frown. A throaty groan follows, a weak scold from a voice as heavy as Cullen’s own body. His smirk widens, and he does it again. This time the grumble rings louder, and Alistair turns his back towards Cullen- though not without grabbing his arm to drape it across his chest.

While his bottom lip brushes up the smooth expanse of Alistair’s back, Cullen’s fingertips scout down a stomach that might be sporting the thinnest, most adorable layer of flab. Alistair sighs, blowing a few pecks on Cullen’s knuckles before bringing his palm to rest atop his slowing heartbeat. Cullen hears the smile in his little hum.

“Make room, please?” a female voice yawns from the bath chambers. Though placid as Cullen is, he obliges.  _Always, for her_. He shuffles backwards and lifts the covers, shooting her a dreamy glance as she patters towards the bed. The mattress dips a tad under her delicate weight, and her curves mould perfectly between the men.

Greedy and physical as their lovemaking was, as lazy is their afterglow. Feverish need has eased into a glow that tingles across Cullen’s chest, through his stomach. Affection rather than arousal now directs their motions- unhurried circles on sensitised skin, sloppy smooches, haphazard duels of entangled feet.

Cullen combs through a mane of soft hair, watches the play of dim light in the silken strands. Over her shoulder he catches a peek of her and Alistair sharing a kiss that’s all grins and nose-rubs. A sudden surge of tenderness has him reaching forward, putting an arm over both of them. Alistair echoes his gesture and she gives a happy squeal. Then it’s just deep breaths and the fire’s crackle. Soon the timid beginnings of a snore sound from the other end of the bed.

He’s about to nod off himself when she turns a fraction towards him, her movement limited by Alistair’s dormant frame. “Could you get the light?”

Cullen smiles- not a smirk but a full, wide, content smile. To himself, at her, at the three of them cuddled up so snugly, so serendipitously. He reaches over to extinguish the small oil lamp before moving in even closer, his arms encircling her.

“ _Always_ ,” he whispers. 


	7. Pornstar!Cullenstair (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First chapter to a modern AU which I may or may not continue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by a [Tumblr ask](http://cullenstairshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/139197150718/pornstarcullistair-au-fan-fiction-alistair) without which I'd have never written a modern AU, much less in a porn industry setting. I have some ideas for continuing it as a slow-burn longfic with an eventual "sandwich" with Trevelyan but so far I've felt the interest isn't quite there. Also I still struggle with the setting, which feels incredibly out of character for these boys.  
> I'd thought about making it a Patreon exclusive but would probably need more patrons to make writing it worthwhile.  
> Long story short- let me know what you think either way ^__^

“ _And cut!_ ”

Cullen takes a deep breath, and another. Inhaling quiet, exhaling bright lights, hasty movements and shrill moans. Just another second to himself and he opens his eyes.

He gives the woman in front of him a friendly nod before he grabs a wet cloth for her and one for himself. Her blue eyes widen in surprise, and despite her glaringly white teeth her smile is shy and self-conscious. 

“Thank you.”

Returning the smile, he finishes cleaning himself and wraps the nearest towel around his hips. His bare feet slide into the slippers, the studded rubber sole sending a warm, mysterious wave of comfort through his tired limbs.

When he emerges from the dressing rooms he’s showered and smells of cologne rather than massage oil. It’s 2pm but he’s off for the rest of the day, which his back will thank him for.

Making his way through the narrow corridors, Cullen gives a smile here, a casual greeting there. Everyone knows him, and most people even seem to like him. He’s nearing the end of the pre-fab maze when, from inside one of the _offices_ on his right, a movement makes him stop and look. 

A step, backwards and shaky with insecurity. Taken by a pair of long, bony feet barely daring to touch upon the once blue carpet. The full-length window doesn’t reveal the figure undoubtedly giving their appraisal from a worn sofa concealed by the door. It merely shows the man standing there patiently, allowing himself to be inspected. He’s around Cullen’s age, taller than him and unusually pale- _unusual for this industry, that is_. 

Squinting behind the black frame of the glasses he wears off the set, Cullen can even make out a dusting of freckles on a flexed arm that’s pleasantly muscular but not overly bulky. And another, just where the elegant curve of a broad back gives way to a toned yet almost perfectly round arse- the only part of him at least partially covered by fabric. The zebra-striped g-string only serves to make him look more out of place, less comfortable in his porcelain skin. 

And that’s when he turns, showing his profile and looking straight at Cullen. _Yes_ , he’s definitely of a similar age, yet somehow looks younger, more _innocent_. Cullen can’t decide whether it’s due to his smooth forehead or maybe those high cheekbones. He’s handsome, and new. It’s easy to tell from the way his eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open in shock at being watched. 

Though despite - _or because of?_ \- his profession he’s never been the lecherous type, Cullen can’t _help_ his staring. Not at those supple, parted lips, pink and glistening from the nervous flick of his tongue; not at those nipples, flat little puckers on a mighty chest; and certainly not at the bushy line of strawberry blonde fuzz below that frivolously round belly button, snaking beyond the waistband of the ridiculous thong. Though he prefers women, now and then some epitome of masculinity or another will catch his eye- though never at work, or so he’d thought. 

The most striking feature about _New Guy_ , though, has to be his hair. It looks well-maintained, yes, and the cut certainly bears appeal with that fluffy quiff at the front. The same mop of fluffy, well-maintained hair, however, is also the colour of a ripe carrot. 

Half-shaking his head, Cullen huffs in solitary amusement. He’s never seen a ginger porn star. And New Guy mustn’t have either, for he’s now frowning with self-consciousness, amber eyes asking both Cullen and himself what exactly they’re doing here.

“See something you like?”

Cullen spins around. “Evelyn!” 

She smiles, raising a single eyebrow. Everyone calls her Ev. Nobody but him ever makes the effort to enunciate her full name. He’s wondered why and concluded that she deserves those three syllables. They’re just classy and elegant enough for her a she stands there in her smart-casual blouse and skirt with that high ponytail and the simple necklace; classier and more elegant than any of the other women - _or men, for that matter_ \- working in these halls. 

She breaks the silence before it turns awkward. “Will I see you Friday night?”

“Of course.” They both know she won’t. He never turns up for these things, but she’s too polite to acknowledge that.

“So…” only when her voice trails off does he realise he’s frozen to the spot, rubbing the back of his head. 

“I’ll see you,” he offers, breathing a sigh of relief when she nods and goes her way.

Cullen squeezes his eyes shut as if to erase any memories of the painful exchange. Turning back in the direction he was headed, he notices the shadow of a figure that stood in the same spot a minute ago. New Guy has moved in towards the sofa- to do what, Cullen doesn’t need to know.

One more corridor to his right and he’ll be out of here. With the exit in sight, he tries but fails as always to ignore the oversized, cheaply framed poster on the left. 

“ _The Curly Commander_ ,” he reads, still incredulous at the image of himself wearing nothing but that bizarre fur-cloak thing and an expression, a poise that’s entirely unlike him though both industry and viewers love him for it.

Chuckling to or perhaps at himself, he swipes his badge and steps through the heavy double doors into the afternoon sunshine, leaving behind ginger amateurs and clumsy conversation.

_Just another day at the office._


	8. EYE OF THE TIGER (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern Alistair would totally adlib to 80s classics... right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setting this in the same world as the untitled AdultMovie!AU (previous chapter).  
> Inspired by [this epic Supernatural outtake](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cb3G5Qj_Lo8).

_VOL 35 – 60 – 85 – MAX_

The opening chords reverberate deep in his stomach. Then it comes.

“ _Da! Da-da-da!_ ”

The razor glides across his cheeks in practiced strokes, making quick but cautious work of the remaining foam.

„ _Da-da-da!_ ”

A couple more swipes and he’s done. Just in time.

„ _Da-da-d a h_ -”

Down he dives, humming as his face breaks through the icy water, a refreshing shock to his senses.

His hair appears fist in the mirror, then the rest of him as he _rises,_ slowly. In time with the beat, _that tremendous beat_. He’s _ready_.

_Risin' up, back on the street / Did my time, took my chances_

His lips move silently, fluently, with those mighty lyrics he’s forever internalised.

_Went the distance / Now I'm back on my feet_

A quick towel-rub and he’s all dry.

_Just a man and his will to survive_

And into the bedroom he goes- no, _slides_. He comes to stand before the wardrobe, the zebra-striped towel flapping at his hips as they begin bouncing left and right, completely on their own accord. He sighs. This song just _does_ that to him.

_So many times, it happens too fast / You trade your passion for glory_

A fist on the heart, followed by a finger pointing towards the heavens (or rather, the ceiling).

_Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past/ You must fight just to keep them alive_

Bare arms stretch sideways then rise, coming level with his shoulders before they explode forward in a mock gunshot. _Bang on target, too._

“ _It's the eye of the tiger / It's the thrill of the fight,”_

He’s no longer adlibbing but belting out the lyrics now, the same enthusiasm in his voice as in the rhythmic twitches of his pelvis and _(not just)_ the towel’s happy flopping.

“ _Risin' up to the challenge / Of our rival_ ,”

With his foot propped up on the bed his left thigh becomes the perfect guitar.

“ _And the last known survivor / Stalks his prey in the night,_ ”

He shields his eyes, which turn into menacing slits as he _bellows_ the words.

“ _And he's watching us all with the_ e y e-“

An impossibly high note and a quick solo on invisible drums.

“ _…of the tiger_ ”

And off comes the towel. He twirls to watch it describe a perfect curve before it lands-

_… on Cullen’s head?_

The music continues, but he’s frozen to the spot, hands flying to cover his nether regions.

Ev chuckles. ( _Why does she have to be there, too?_ ) “Don’t you think we’re past all that, Alistair?”

His shoulders sag and his bottom lip curls downwards in defeat.

Freeing himself, Cullen gives him _that_ smirk- smug yet deviously irresistible. “That was quite the show.”

“How long have you been here, exactly?” Alistair manages. _Does he really wish to know?_

“Long enough for a few ideas to develop,” Ev purrs, sauntering closer to brush a fingertip down his chest. He recognises the mischief in her eyes- _a specific sort of mischief_. The embarrassed flush becomes a mildly excited prickle, and he can’t help a smile as her hands find his waist. Behind her a throat is cleared.

“As much as I’m up for some _fun_ ,” Cullen interrupts, “we should really get going.”

A dramatic sigh escapes Alistair as she lets go of him. “As if you even know how to have fun.”

“Oh believe me,” Cullen asserts, stepping in, “I have every intention of showing you later.” A flat-handed slap on Alistair’s buttock emphasizes his intention.

“Ow,” he huffs, grinning. “All right, let me get dressed and I’ll pretend to be watching this play whilst imagining the three of us _play_.” He’s proud of that one.

“As long as you don’t snore like last time,” Cullen teases.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pretend insult raises his pitch a note or two.

“We’ll leave you to it,” Ev presses a kiss on his cheek before they walk out into the hallway.

Alistair chuckles, shaking his head as he rummages for his trousers.

_It’s going to be quite the night._


	9. A Moment Stolen (NSFW-ish)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Three-way kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by and dedicated to AlleiraDayne.  
> Originally posted 22 Nov 2015. I'm deleting all my shorter drabbles and re-posting them as part of this collection so you may have already seen this. All your lovely comments have been saved to my computer as they mean a lot to me. Thanks for understanding! (^^)

_Circle? Triangle? Or something undefinable in between?_

Trevelyan isn’t sure and won’t spend any more time pondering what shape they’re forming. Not when the press of two large hands on her back is drawing her closer, their fingers interlocked in a playful caress. Her own palms each rest in that alluring little dip of the spine above the buttocks. Stretching her ring and little fingers, she scouts out the pert swells, enticingly soft yet rigid at their owners’ will.

The scents of soap and masculinity blend in with the spiced wine on their breaths and the fire’s sooty aroma. Trevelyan stands up on her toes. Her cheeks now brush against theirs, stubble rasping on soft skin, fine hairs tickling her temples. She giggles, the punch’s pleasant burn in her tummy a cosy complement to the warmth radiating, beckoning from her knights’ embrace. Her eyes dart back and forth between them. Her own giddy anticipation, that childlike sense of _enjoying the forbidden_ is there, reflected in caramel and green-speckled amber.

Then they lean in, a fraction per heartbeat; heat and smell drawing ever closer until-

“ _Ow!_ ”

… until her partners-in-kissing withdraw abruptly, rubbing their noses where they bumped into each other. The force of Trevelyan’s laugh has her wobbling, standing back down on her heels, cackles softening into giggles as she takes in their hurt expressions. Alistair frowns at her, sticking out his bottom lip.

Stifling another chuckle, she stretches to face him, flashes a grin before planting the softest of pecks on the tip of that endlessly elegant nose. The lip retreats- _His Majesty appears to have been appeased._

From the left a stern sound catches her attention. Cullen clears his throat, tutting when she looks at him. Trevelyan’s grin widens as she moves in, her tongue darting out for a languid lick along his scar.

When her commander, too has received due attention they make another attempt.

Hands on spines, a tad lower than before. Bodies closer, tighter. Noses rubbing and then, _at last_ , lips find each other. Rather than a closed press, their kiss is an open-mouthed brush, a search, a smile against one another. Gentle sighs blow warm across their faces as tongues join in, softness and tingle and promise. Yearning soon dictates their motions, budding arousal born from the others’ feel, scent, flavour. Hands grasp harder, fingers dig in, teeth nibble and tongues savour. Trevelyan squeezes a round cheek on either side of her, moaning when a thumb circles a stiffening nipple through suddenly superfluous fabric.                                                 

Caught up in sensation, the three don’t notice their own feet shuffling towards the bed, nor the footfalls approaching from the Great Hall.

It’s the knock from below along with the servant’s voice that end their kiss, their embrace, their moment. Weak huffs, or possibly resigned laughs, precede a hasty retreat back towards the corner table to continue their _talks_.

Trevelyan’s eyes bore into Alistair’s as her thumb brushes a smudge of red off that plump lower lip while she calls “Come in, please.”

The door opens. Spymaster, ambassador and royal advisor are welcomed. Negotiations continue, agreements are made.

But the air between King, Herald and Commander remains charged, brimming with impatient hunger, with the unspoken plan to try this once more after dark.

 


	10. Antlers (NSFW-ish)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wee birthday present for the fabulous Eravalefantasy based on [hilariously saucy art](http://oblivionscribe.tumblr.com/post/134826918392/replicajester-consider-this-the-prequel-to) by Oblivionscribe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any holiday canon was thoroughly ignored in favour of some frivolous fun.  
> Originally posted 9 December 2015. I'm deleting all my shorter drabbles and re-posting them as part of this collection so you may have already seen this. All your lovely comments have been saved to my computer as they mean a lot to me. Thanks for understanding! (^^)

“I still don’t see the point,” Cullen scoffed.

Arms folded across his chest, he stood beside a decidedly more cheerful Alistair in the Inquisitor’s quarters where he’d spent the last ten minutes huffing and scowling. The airy room’s closed curtains and the fire’s cosy warmth shielded them from any unwanted attention as well as the frosty temperatures. 

“Why this _colla_ r?” he began again, his light baritone laced with disdain. As if to emphasise his frustration, the leather band’s tiny bells jingled with his arm’s gesture. “And this ridiculous headband with these- these…”

“Antlers, you mean?” Alistair’s grin only deepened Cullen’s frown. And His Majesty wasn’t finished. Tracing the Commander’s curious headgear with a fingertip, he observed with unabashed intrigue, “They do suit you, I must say.” The king’s own ensemble of a velveteen red vest with plush white fur seams and matching hat and boots complemented his ivory skin quite well, Trevelyan had noticed.

Not that she could possibly have _ignored_ the flattering contrast, nor how endearing the neck and head gear looked on Cullen- because that, in fact, was all they were wearing.

Trevelyan leaned back in her armchair, smiling. Fully clothed herself, she was rather enjoying her Chantry boys dressing up for her viewing pleasure. When another snarky grumble sounded from under the mighty deer horns, she weighed in. “Cullen,” she drawled, struggling to hide the amusement from her voice, “you’re getting the King of Ferelden to help you clear your Wicked Grace debt. You should be thankful.”

All that earned her was more huffing. Alistair was still grinning in unfaltering enthusiasm, his hand brushing over a stubbly cheek. “Hush, Commander,” he cooed, “just look pretty.”

Trevelyan tried in earnest to stifle the giggle bubbling up in her belly at the sheer comedy of Alistair’s belittling remark and Cullen’s ensuing snarl.

Though they did make for a rather enticing view. _Both of them._

Before she knew it, Trevelyan’s eyes had embarked on a pleasant journey down the slopes of wide shoulders, scouting out white scars and dainty freckles; across the broad of tight muscles, deep Adonis belts and the most inviting trails of ginger and golden fuzz leading towards…

Trevelyan shifted in her seat.

Under her appraising scrutiny her knights were now stirring to _attention_ of a different sort. A faint whimper left her lips at the sight of flesh swelling, skin filling, thickening shafts rising to rest against taut abdomens.

Cullen’s expression had softened along with his voice. That ever-lickable scar twitched and an eyebrow rose in sultry challenge. “So,” he hissed as a broad hand sneaked up his thigh towards his groin, wrapping a few curls around a nimble finger. His own palm settled on Alistair’s buttock, giving a testing squeeze before he pulled him close with a groan. “What happens now?”

“I believe,” the fluffy pompom adorning Alistair’s hat swayed as he turned to nibble at Cullen’s earlobe, “the mythical creature you so charmingly represent moves on all fours.”

For the next few minutes the Inquisitor’s near-hysterical cackles rang out into the main hall. A close listener may even have been able to make out the Commander’s growl _daring_ His Majesty to even _consider_ saying “Giddy up”.


	11. Motions (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short I can only hope is half as intense as Oblivionscribe's heart-wrenching, suck-the-air-from-your-lungs beautiful [art of our two favourite Chantry boys](http://oblivionscribe.tumblr.com/post/134063846947/oblivionscribe-nsfw-under-cut-keep-reading).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 27 November 2015. I'm deleting all my shorter drabbles and re-posting them as part of this collection so you may have already seen this. All your lovely comments have been saved to my computer as they mean a lot to me. Thanks for understanding! (^^)

Shifting. Under him, against him. His body reaching up, aching for thick muscle, scarred skin, for a touch that bears so much raw strength yet feels so tender.

 

Arching. Eager hands tracing muscle, scars, hairs. Pinching dainty nipples, squeezing a tight buttock.

 

Inhaling. Soaking up musk, sweat, desire.

 

Hissing. At the agonising tickle of breath, lips, then the sting of teeth. In the crook of his neck, describing a wet path upwards via his hammering pulse point, towards his jaw.

 

Blinking. Taking in this man’s lustful grace, his quiet beauty.

 

Grasping. A handful of curls, a sinewy shoulder as a clever tongue laves his earlobe.

 

Encouraging. Mumbling, croaking, _yes, ah, please_.

 

Pulsing. Blood pumping through his veins, his cock, hot and heavy and fast.

 

_Craving._ Like he’d never thought possible.

 

Holding his breath. Tongue darting out as the flask emerges. Exhaling, nodding, permitting.

 

Writhing on one, two then three fingers. His voice breaking as he’s being spread open. Holding on to the warm gaze that’s guiding him through the tingling waves of sensation so unique, so intense it almost hurts.

 

Lifting, stretching. Locking ankles in the dip of a broad back. Offering himself, all of him.

 

Licking his lips at the sight of the meaty shaft, disappearing and re-emerging between thick fingers. All oiled up just for him.

 

Locking eyes, his mouth falling open.

 

Crying out in the shock he still feels every time, sweet agony shooting through his nerves.

 

Flexing fingers. Intertwining, clutching at one another.

 

Responding. Meeting every thrust with a buck of his hips. Echoing each guttural noise, every breathless enunciation. Their bodies speaking, singing to each other.

 

Succumbing. To Cullen, his body, their union.

 

Watching. A rough hand fastening around his cock, thumb swirling moisture over the irate head.

 

Kissing. Noisy, hungry, forever committing the other’s taste to dear memory.

 

Heaving. _So close._

 

Moaning. Helpless against the utter pleasure they inflict on each other.

 

Rising. _Coiling-Tensing-Swelling-Spilling-Twitching-Trembling_.

 

Transcending. Bliss. Clarity. _Belonging._

 

Coming to. Eyes opening, fists unclenching.

 

Chuckling. Giddy warmth spreading through heavy limbs. Ruffling tousled curls, smiling at how well the flush suits him

 

Reaching out for her as she crawls up. Stroking silken hair with both hands. Humming at the sponge’s pleasant rubs. Nestling safely between two warm bodies. His face cushioned on her warm bosom, back resting against a broad chest.

 

Drifting. Letting her lullaby’s soothing notes guide him to slumber.

 

Embracing. Him, her and their love.


	12. The Wait (NSFW-ish)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble for the lovely Madelief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 31 October 2015. I'm deleting all my shorter drabbles and re-posting them as part of this collection so you may have already seen this. All your lovely comments have been saved to my computer as they mean a lot to me. Thanks for understanding! (^^)

A stolen glance, a sideways motion of his eyes while his body remains still.

 

Then another, this time with his chin following just a little. Far enough to get a shy glimpse whilst still appearing to any onlookers like they’re both quietly standing out here on the battlements waiting for the others.

 

And what does he see but His Majesty looking right back at him? Standing still as he is, aware of the ever-looming threat of prying eyes, of potentially life-destroying scandal. Only Alistair’s lips (that he’s spent weeks thirsting for) curve into a tiny smile, but it’s reflected in those eyes, too, of course. Depths of hazel springing to life with mischief, anticipation, and promise.

 

Promise of touch, of friction, of his body that he’s learnt to make Cullen crave so much. A shaky hand reaches out on its own accord, towards the warmth that’s radiating from under the fine stately uniform.

 

Their index fingers make contact, through two pairs of gloves, but a spark of want shoots through him nonetheless. It’s this spark, this fraction of a touch that breaks Cullen’s resolve. He senses his face coming closer, _and closer_ , until at last his forehead touches upon Alistair’s in what’s become their private little gesture. Cullen doesn’t dare look for fear of finding all of Skyhold watching them, but he knows Alistair’s eyes are also closed and his smile has widened. He hears a heartbeat, smells leather, soap and desire. His bottom lip touches upon Alistair’s, brushes across that sinful mouth, and _Maker_ , he wants him now. One of them moans, and _that’s it_ , he’s going to-

 

A heavy, wooden creak, and they both jump. His love emerges first, at once sensing the tension between them. Coming to stand in the doorway just long enough to stall the party behind her, her smile, her posture, the way her breathing changes are acknowledgement and invitation all at once.

 

And in this instant Cullen wants nothing more than to pull her towards him and kiss her, kiss them both. Get tangled up in their arms, their bodies, inhale their scents, their heat once more.

 

They will, of course. As always during the ever more frequent visits, later on there will be secret passages, a sequence of knocks and a far-too early wake-up tomorrow to allow Alistair to return to his guest quarters.

 

But for now it’s nonchalant diplomacy. Lunch at the tavern with spymaster, ambassador and the royal delegation. And quiet, stolen glances.


	13. Five Steps (NSFW-ish)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short drabble based on [this beautiful screenshot](http://cantkeepmyeyesoff.tumblr.com/post/131284488423/charming-my-warden-and-he-are-madly-in-love) by cantkeepmyeyesoff.  
> For robotochawk and Eravalefantasy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 6 November 2015. I'm deleting all my shorter drabbles and re-posting them as part of this collection so you may have already seen this. All your lovely comments have been saved to my computer as they mean a lot to me. Thanks for understanding! (^^)

One step and their eyes meet. He takes in the outline of muscle under linen, barely concealed strength awaiting him. Blood pounds in his veins, warm and fast, and his fingers flex.

 

Two steps. Leather, soap and sweat tickle his nostrils, rouse his senses into an awareness that’s curious and carnal. His brow pinches, eyes narrowing with anticipation grown over months.

 

Three steps and the shirt slides down his arms. Caramel eyes trace a path a down his chest, his abs, coming to rest where the trail of strawberry blonde hairs disappears below his belt. His skin prickles with goose bumps under the familiar scrutiny, and his tongue darts out to wet thirsty lips.

Four steps and she joins, cocking her hip as she stands to face him. Flowers and masculinity blend into one scent, so intoxicating he sways in his stride. Aching bodies within reach of his eager hands at long last.

 

Five steps see them clashing into each other. Hard and soft, sweet and salty, man and woman. Three sets of lips and hands, rediscovering, claiming. Pent-up tension unloading itself in a feverish mess of affection, desire and too long.

 

More steps are made before they tumble onto the bed in a heap of limbs and lust.

 

Only Alistair couldn't possibly count them.


	14. Summertime Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The OT3 go berry-picking- but who enjoys it the most?  
> Prompted by OblivionScribe on Patreon.

Scattered clouds were painting ivory whirls on a canvas of deep blue. Age-old trees swayed in the gentle breeze. Grass rustled under their feet, longer and thicker with every step they put between them and Skyhold. The castle’s bustle was fading, chatter and swords drowned out by melodic bird chirps and the occasional insect’s hum.

Trevelyan squinted, a hand shielding her face as she took cautious glance around. Once satisfied they were alone, she reached out, eager fingers finding King Alistair’s, relishing their warmth for the first time in over a month.

She squealed when his grip tightened and he pulled her close, into a wall of leather and sandalwood. Before she knew she was on her tiptoes, floral skirt dancing in the wind. Alistair’s lips traced her features; placing fluttering kisses on her lids, her forehead, and finally her mouth.

“I missed you,” he mumbled into their kiss, “Maker bless these _diplomatic meetings_.”

Trevelyan grinned, hands slipping past his slim waist as she was about to tell him her made-up reason for the _urgent_ summit.

“I didn’t know there were blackberries growing here!”

Tale forgotten, she spun around to the sight of Cullen kneeling before a voluminous bush, rolling two ripe fruits in his palm. Oblivious to the surprised look she exchanged with Alistair, he popped one in his mouth, eyes widening as he chewed. The second berry was quick to disappear between busy lips as he hummed in delight. “And they’re good, too.”

“You might want to wash these before you eat them,” Trevelyan cautioned, earning herself a snort.

“Oh please,” the Commander said, grinning, “When I was a child I used to do this all the time. Never had so much as a sore stomach.” He swallowed another berry, brow crinkling as he seemed to savour precious memories along with his pick.

Never one to reject a treat, Alistair crouched beside Cullen, helping himself to a sample. “They’re really not bad. Well spotted, Commander.”

Cullen nodded, a proud glint in his eyes. “I could tell straight away.”

Trevelyan was curious now. “Did you use to go back in Honnleath?”

“Every summer I can remember.” His gaze drifted off in reminiscence before he refocussed. “Now are you going to help me or not?”

Metal and buckles clanked before his gauntlets sank into the grass, soon joined by fur and cloak. ( _Trevelyan never had been quite sure how he managed to wear them in this weather without suffocating.)_ Rolling up his sleeves, Cullen began picking from the nearest branch, collecting his yield on the spread-out mantle.

Trevelyan and Alistair shared another grin at Cullen’s earnest enthusiasm. They found a spot each and went to work. A good half hour passed as they picked off handful after sumptuous handful of blackberries. Trevelyan and Alistair worked in silence, content listening to Cullen’s anecdotes- of pranks between siblings; long summer days enjoying the outdoors; and of Mother’s delicious preserves and divine pies.

When the bushes sat near-empty Cullen stood, admiring the pile in his mantle. “That’s almost as much as we’d get from that little forest near our house.” He stopped, mouth sagging as his brow creased.

Trevelyan got up, Alistair following suit. She took Cullen’s stained hand in hers. “You miss them, don’t you?”

Cullen shrugged. “I guess I do. It’s been years since I saw any of my family.”

Her bottom lip stuck out in a hesitant smile. Shy as she was about bringing up the idea, a deep breath provided resolve. “Why don’t we visit them?

A berry almost dropped from Cullen’s mouth. “Really?”

Trevelyan nodded, encouraged. “We could even bring some of these,” she gestured at the heap of purple.

Her heart did a little jump as always when he smiled liked that- carefree and sincere, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “I’d love that.”  He caught Alistair turning away, stepping forward to catch him by the arm. “I’d like you to come as well.”

Though Alistair returned the smile, he shook his head, gaze dropping to the ground. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Trevelyan recognised his tone, small and low with self-depreciation.

As if he’d expected the reaction, Cullen nodded, taking Alistair’s hand. Immediately their fingertips started playing, tickling each other. “We’ll find a way.” He gestured at the three of them. “Look at us now. We always do, don’t we?” 

Alistair’s hesitant look met Cullen’s, then hers. “That would be great.”  


Trevelyan stepped in, and the three shared a kiss, sweet as the berries they’d been picking. A few nose-rubs and some gentle tickles later they folded up the cloak, Alistair throwing it over his shoulder as they walked back to Skyhold.

Though many soaps and detergents were procured, Cullen never quite managed to remove the stains from his mantle.


	15. Salutes and Snickers (NSFW-ish)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this photo](http://cullenstairshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/147252199218/oblivionscribe-cullenstairshenanigans-its) and something Leofina made her 3D model do during her live stream (you'll see)...

Cullen hummed under the glide of a fingertip over his stubble; at the fluff tickling his sides as a wiry arm wound around him; into her neck’scurve, inhaling skin and female musk.

He relished his limbs sagging, muscles softening as his body let go of all tension; welcomed the dreamy blanket of abandon wrapping over his senses as his eyes fluttered shut.

Another minute and the Fade would have claimed him- were it not for the breathy snort stroking his shoulder, then his ears as it lengthened into a titter.

“What is it,” he slurred, reluctance a weight on his voice and lids.

“You know, earlier…” Alistair laughed rather than mumbled into his neck, “when we were _at it_ , you must have flexed some muscle or other, and your-“ the remainder of the sentence dissolved into grunts tickling Cullen’s ear, dragging him further out of sleep’s reach.

“It _bobbed_ ,” came the snicker from before him.

Cullen looked then, squinting in surprise at _her_ \- also giggling, much as she was trying not to.

“You mean my-“ _Was he truly asking this?_

She managed a _Yes_ as her laugh bubbled to a bewildering volume. “In fact it sort of,” a hand clung to his shoulder as another fit shook her, “it sort of nodded.”

“Nodded?” Cullen turned onto his back, looking left to find Alistair curling over, one hand on his tummy that was trembling with waves of near-quiet, breathless cackles.

“It did,” he agreed, near tears, “a rather obedient little…”

Cullen scowled. “ _Little?_ ”

His earnest question served as the last straw, for at last his lovers lost it completely. Though erupting in hearty belly laughs and near-shrieks, they did manage the odd comment in between. Cullen wasn’t sure whether it was Trevelyan’s snorted _The Commander salutes_ _you_ or Alistair’s howl of _Boing!_ that did it- a sudden wave of laughter gripped him and he cackled with them, holding on to random arms and shoulders. They went on for Maker knew how long, loud enough to wake half of Skyhold and well beyond caring.

Eventually guffaws subsided into chuckles and caring hands found aching tummies. Struggling for breath, Cullen shook his head. “What would I do without you two?”

An elegant nose nestled against his cheek. “You’d probably get a lot more work done,” Alistair purred, still grinning.

“… frown considerably less,” Trevelyan added.

Cullen’s chin tilted in agreement. “… and sleep more.” His fingers and toes betrayed his stern tone; combing auburn tresses, stroking up a fuzzy calf.

“But would I laugh half as much?” he wondered aloud, lids sinking shut.

A joint _No_ , full of conviction, was the last sound to graze his ears before he slipped into peaceful slumber.


	16. Insufficient (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was up seriously late and came across [this gorgeous NSFW-ish picture ](http://cullenstairshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/148972868008/cullenstairshenanigans-winmommy)on Tumblr.

_Not enough._ Time, space, hands, lips.

  
All is insufficient, as ever.

  
Because Alistair is there, teasing open her mouth in that whimsically gentle manner of his.

  
And so is Cullen, scar smooth on her neck as he nibbles his way towards her cheek, her chin, or perhaps her chest.

  
Though right now her chest is occupied by a busy hand, palm swiping over a stiffening peak as slender fingers fight stubborn buttons.

  
Another hand is cupping a buttock, appraising its roundness with bold curiosity.

  
And she, she’s grasping, stroking, memorising what she can; combing through the softest ginger locks; winding into golden curls; scouting down a freckled bicep that’s grown since she last saw him; delighting in every muscle under her palm as it runs down a broad back.

  
_Still, not enough._ Not of their kisses, their heat, their hardness. Need coils into panic, a sour sting in her tummy mixing with arousal’s warmth, and she _pulls away_ , foolishly, as if that’s going to give them more time, space or anything.

  
They catch on immediately, _of course they do._ Worry pinches Alistair’s brow, thins Cullen’s lips as they look on for a speechless second.

  
And her head tilts, her eyes sting as she recognises in their stare and poise a concern born of the deepest, truest affection.  
These men’s love, their unwavering devotion has her stomach tingling, her heart swelling with joy. But her toes tense and her teeth grind at the shame, the prejudice, the blighted notions of propriety that confine them to these occasional visits with their stolen moments and quiet gestures.

  
She swallows her outrage, her despair, her urge to walk out of this crammed room and show the world. Drowns them in another kiss as she pulls both of them in.

  
Lips smack, flavours mingle and timid moans ring sweet amid quickening breaths.

  
She closes her eyes, smiling, whispering against Alistair’s ( _or Cullen’s?)_ lips.

  
“Don’t stop. Ever.”


	17. Pillow Talk (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King and Commander aren't getting out of bed yet. All-dialogue smut.

“Good _mor-_ ning!”

 

“Wha- where… what time is it?”

 

“Time to get up and stretch those hairy legs, Commander. This is no vacation, after all.”

 

“Ugh. Leave me be, Alistair.”

 

“Pardon? I must have misheard you there. Since I’m sure you said _Your Majesty_. You know, being in my palace, my bed and all. And don’t give me that eye-roll, Rutherford.”

 

“Could you leave me in peace just for another while?”

 

“Why- I’m hardly harming you?”

 

“You’re talking. I’m sure that counts as har- _mmph_!”

 

“Better?”

 

“I was hoping for some quiet, not a kiss, but- _oh_!”

 

“See, I _was_ being quiet there, wasn’t I?”

 

“While your hand was sneaking under the covers.”

 

“Can’t make the Commander happy one way or another, can I?”

 

“You could try kissing me again…”

 

“I’ll _try_ …”

 

( _silence, rustling_ )

 

“Now that’s better. Come here, you.”

 

“I- hey, that tickles! ( _a pause_ ) I do miss that lovely bosom of hers. Shame you couldn’t bring her this time.”  


“You’ll have to do without the bosom, I’m afraid.”

 

“Well… ( _a chuckle_ )”

 

“Well what? Why am I not liking that grin?”

 

“( _More chuckling_ ) Those chubby little man-breasts of yours make for a rather decent substitute.”

 

“My _what_? Hey, stop pinching!”

 

“All right- I’ll stop … but look at that adorable pot belly you’ve got growing there!”

 

“ _Excuse me_?”

 

“Since the Inquisition has ceased fighting you’ve porked up _just_ a little, Comman- _ah_!”

 

“Not so witty now, _Your Majesty_?”

 

“I- I’d forgotten how you…”

 

“How I what? Do _this_?”

 

( _an audible swallow_ )

 

“… or _this_?”

 

( _slow breathing_ )

 

“Just as well I came by to remind you then, isn’t it?”

 

( _silence_ )

 

“Do you like that?”

 

( _panting_ )

 

“Maker, Cullen, I-“

 

“Tell me, Alistair. I want to hear.”

 

“I-“

 

“Look at me.”

 

“I can’t-“

 

“Yes, you can. Look at me or I’ll stop. ( _a pause)_ That’s better. Now talk.”

 

“I’ve thought about us. ( _a swallow_ ) Just you and me. Doing this.”

 

“You mean _this_?”

 

“Ah- yes, exactly there. ( _rustling_ ) Maker, if you don’t stop I’ll-“

 

“I’ve no intention to.”  


( _wet fleshy sounds, more rustling, heavy breathing_ )

 

“Cullen, I-“

 

“Yes, show me.”

 

( _a soft moan_ )

 

“That’s it, Alistair.”

 

“ _Cullen_ -“

 

( _a drawn-out_ ah _, quickening wet noises_ )

 

( _quiet, then slow breaths)_

 

“Andraste’s knickers, Cullen…”

 

“You were saying…?”

 

“That was… but are you going to be wearing that smug face all day now?”

 

“You mean I didn’t earn it?”

 

“I mean how are you going to explain that entirely unusual smile to our esteemed guests, _Les Orlesians_?”

 

“( _a snort_ ) Must you bring them up now?”

 

“We do have to meet them shortly…”

 

( _a grunt_ )

 

 “… but I’m sure we can find some time to hide that Fereldan pork sausage of yours somewhere…”

 

“ _Fereldan pork sausage_? Seriously, Alistair, you’ve got to stop with those jokes.”

 

“Make me.”

 

“Oh, believe me- I will.”

 


	18. Cheddar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A _What's in the box?_ prompt from the seriously lovely Winmommy on Tumblr.

“Yes, Marquis, thank you. I shall let her know at once.” After she’s gotten the kiss I’ve been waiting to give her all day, Cullen added in his mind as he gave a half-bow. Closing the door in the nobleman’s face, he shut out the great hall’s bustle along with the working day’s burdens.

And someone else may quite possibly need to receive a smooch first, too. A grin lit up his features as he strode up the creaky flight of stairs, light steps bouncing with happy anticipation. Whilst a last-minute missive from that overeager scout had confided him to his office, the Inquisitor and His Visiting Highness had commenced their evening talks over some fine wine. With each stride bringing him closer, his heart beat faster and a tune made its way past his lips in a cheerful hum.

Once he’d reached the stairtop, however, he froze in his tracks.

Before him stood King and Herald, fully clothed, arms folded across their chests, stern expressions shocking him into silence.

“What is it?” Cullen’s voice climbed in pitch as his mind began racing and a concerned frown crept across his face. “Is everything all right?”

“You tell me,” Trevelyan asserted, throwing him a cryptic glance before she reached beside her to retrieve a bundle of cloth and string.

Cullen’s eyes widened, understanding setting in as she continued. “This wouldn’t belong to you by any chance?”

“It does,” he began with a weary sigh, “but I expected it to be delivered to my office.”

“To your office? Interesting!” Amusement outweighed suspicion in Alistair’s demeanour. “I’d be thrilled to learn what military purpose it serves.” A devious glint brightened amber eyes as he reached into the opened parcel.

Before Cullen could respond, His Majesty continued, inspecting the studded leather strap with concentrated intrigue. A ginger eyebrow rose along with his pitch. “Is it a neck collar?”

Embarrassment’s familiar warmth prickled in Cullen’s cheeks, whether from the king’s suggestive tone or Trevelyan’s daunting stare.

“I-I can explain,” he ground his teeth at the onset of his stutter of old and was promptly interrupted again.

“Can you?” The Inquisitor’s pointed question did nothing to ease his chagrin, nor did the sight of what she produced next. Two thumbs in width and the length of a finger, the object appeared to be made from rubber. The enticing shade of ruby it had been dyed in only served to render it more bizarre.

Alistair chuckled, shaking his head. “Just where is this supposed to go, Commander?”

A bead of sweat made a dauntingly, torturously slow descent down Cullen’s temple as he failed to find a way out of the increasingly humiliating predicament.

“I mean, I’m all for merry debauchery,” Alistair’s voice dropped as his eyebrows wiggled, “but isn’t that all a bit much?”

Cullen swallowed down a lump, clammy palms fidgeting at his sides. “Fine,” he managed at last, the words a weight off his chest, “I’ll show you.” From the corner of his eye he caught the two exchanging a puzzled glance as turned and left.

When Cullen returned ten minutes later he was carrying a crate covered with a woollen blanket. Ignoring the quizzical gazes he was met with, he set his load down on the bed and beckoned the others to sit on either side of it.

“I was going to keep it to myself for another few days,” he began, his tone ominous, “but since you’ve so cleverly discovered my scheme-“

A quick tug of his hand revealed the box’s mysterious contents. On a bed of hay and wood chips, a tattered shred of fabric by its side-

“Maker!”

… lay the tiniest, most innocent Mabari puppy. Deep asleep and peacefully oblivious to his surroundings, the shine of his ashen fur reflected in the candlelight with each rise and fall of his chest. A sock-like fleck of white adorned each tiny paw, and the creature’s entire body couldn’t have been longer than a man’s forearm.

“I found him by the lake outside the castle grounds,” Cullen explained while Alistair and Trevelyan sat caught up in their awe. “The poor thing had been abandoned, barely a few weeks old.”

“Barely a few weeks old,” the Inquisitor echoed, adoring fingers ghosting over velvety fur.

His Majesty, too, appeared enchanted by their surprise guest. “How long have you had him?” he asked, cupping the pup’s entire head in his palm and giving an excited ah when the little bundle leaned into his touch.

“About five days,” Cullen chuckled. “He’s been staying in the barracks at night. Rylen seems rather taken with him.”

“Rylen, huh?” Alistair repeated absentmindedly, almost jumping to his feet when flimsy lashes lifted and huge brown eyes blinked themselves out of the Fade. “Oh, look who’s awake!”

Startled by the melodic coo, the Mabari frowned then decided the human before him might be trustworthy after all. Alistair all but squealed when the pup sat on chubby hind legs, short neck extending forward as he tickled the open palm with a curious sniffle. Entirely enthralled, Ferelden’s king and saviour leaned in, rubbing noses with the miniscule beast, mumbling incomprehensible endearments.

“Has he got a name?” Trevelyan never looked at Cullen, too concentrated on stroking the fluffy tail.

“Not yet. I was thinking of-“

“Cheddar!” The king’s excited exclamation turned their heads.

“What?” Asked in unison, the question bore equal parts astonishment and verbal eye-roll.

“Cheddar,” Alistair repeated, sweeping the furry handful up into his arms, “because he’s such a little wedge of a dog. Aren’t you?” Once again he launched into a series of coos, broken up by giggles as a pink tongue lapped at his face.

Cullen exchanged a glance with Trevelyan. “Cheddar it is then,” he shrugged, profoundly amused by Alistair’s antics.

“The delivery makes sense now, of course,” Trevelyan pondered.

Heat returned to Cullen’s cheeks once more. “Had I known the toy looked like that, I wouldn’t have-“ a snicker muffled into a kiss silenced him. “As long as Cheddar is happy,” another peck on his nose, “I’m sure we can all tolerate that thing.”

“Are you happy, boy? Are you?” Alistair sang, rocking their pet back and forth.

“I can’t decide which of you two is more content,” Cullen said, his arm snaking around the Inquisitor’s waist as they watched king and Mabari play. “I was going to wait a few more days to present him,” he smiled as Trevelyan’s head nestled against his shoulder, “but it looks like we’ll be four in the bed tonight.”

Indeed the rest of the evening was spent doting over the Inquisition’s newest member- petting Cheddar, explaining the world, sharing many a warm cuddle. Though it was a different night than Cullen had planned, their four-legged foundling made it all the more delightful.


	19. Punishment (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Got bored again. Wrote spanking.

_You’ve been_ naughty _, Inquisitor._

Alistair’s offensively smooth baritone echoes in her head as she shuffles on the bed. A hiss breaks the silence when she arches her back, bare bum deliciously exposed. Cullen’s throaty _mmh_ coincides with the sharp whizz of a hand through the air.

Then it’s her own voice, shrill with gleeful shock, almost drowning out the smack of a palm on naked skin.

“ _Oh_!”

The impact, expected yet sudden, sends a flash of heat spreading over her derriere, prickling with a delightful sting.

“That, my dear, was for tonight,” Cullen asserts, his breath a sinful taunt in her ear.

“For seating us amid those _Orlesians_ ,” Alistair adds, words dripping with disdain, before a flat-handed blow on her other cheek evokes another yelp.

Pain blooms on her arse, fanning out across sensitive skin. And they’re not granting her a break.

“For having them involve us in fashion discussions.” It’s Cullen’s turn- _and he’s put on his leather gloves_.

This time he hits harder, and it burns deeper. A more comfortable warmth now tingles at her apex.

Gasping, she wiggles her hips, eager for more. She only realises her eyes were closed when they open as Alistair steps in close.

“And this,” gone is the playful timbre, a dangerous grunt rumbling in its place, “is for how _you_ flirted with Teagan.” Hurt, even anger reverberate in each pressed syllable, and she chuckles, eliciting a warning growl.

He strikes, all but _imprinting_ every single finger on her rear. A rush of tears burns in her eyes and lust pulses through her, deepening the pull between her legs.

She should be telling them to stop, to take mercy. But instead she moans, stretches, dips lower so her stiff peaks brush against the silken sheets, _not enough_.

The next slap catches her by surprise, and she cries out then.

“Who said you could move?” Cullen is going for stern, but arousal has him speaking that little bit slower, raspier. On a whim she reaches out to her right, holding back a squeal when her hand moulds to the Commander’s rather appetising bulge.

“What-“ A quick strike, a second, and then another. She moans, yelps with each of them, thrusts her arse up higher, begging for more.

And they keep at it. Each blow, every slap slickens her cunt, has her pearl fat and throbbing. She pants, squirms, wails _ah_ and _yes_ as she lies before them raw and dripping with lust.

Until they stop.

Emptiness mocks her, fanning coldly across her bum, slowing the pulse at her centre. Silence looms above the room, and panic creeps down her spine.

Just as she’s about to turn for a peek the mattress sinks to her right- and left.

_They’re closing in._

A finger, clad in rough leather, dips into the arch of her back, tracing between her buttocks before it settles on her pucker, evoking a sharp hiss. She’d buck into the touch, ask for more, were it not for another hand snaking down her stomach to cup her sex. A thick digit parts hairless labia, dipping in with an obscene slurp of a noise.

“You’re wet.” Two words spoken with an indifference so clinical, so analytical yet so utterly arousing she has to bite her lip.

“Almost as if you’re _enjoying_ this,” Cullen’s finger taps on her other hole, casually as if he’s contemplating.

“You see,” Alistair is right beside her now, beard scraping her shoulder, “we’ve had to punish you there for everything that happened at the banquet table.”

Then her breath catches as two fingers fill her the same instant a hand spreads her buttocks.

“But what we haven’t even mentioned,” the same cool detachment in Cullen’s voice, “is what you were doing _under_ the table.”

She smiles.

 


	20. Things You Said With Too Many Miles Between Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King, Commander, and an all-too ~~British~~ Fereldan reluctance to express those feels

 

Your Royal Majesty

I am writing regarding the Lady Inquisitor’s upcoming name-day. Preparations have begun for what shall be lavish festivities despite the Herald’s insistence not to celebrate. Can I assume Your Majesty will grace Skyhold with your presence?

_[The last line is somewhat askew and more scribbled than the previous sentences, as if added in haste]_

This is an official inquiry on behalf of the Inquisition’s board of advisors.

Sincerely,

 

_Cullen S Rutherford, Military Strategist_

 

Esteemed Commander

Thank you for taking time out of your undoubtedly busy schedule to write. Please do consider my attendance confirmed. ~~I’m looking forward to seeing~~ Such occasions present a valuable opportunity to further cement the promising relations between the Inquisition and the Kingdom of Ferelden.

Could you be so kind as to advise regarding an appropriate length of stay and size of party to accompany me?

With the kindest regards

 

_King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden_

 

Your Grace

Your speedy confirmation is appreciated. Once you’ve arrived at Skyhold I will be sure to seek your presence as there is much to discuss and plan. Strategic and confidential issues, that is. Issues which will require the attention of only you, I and the Lady Trevelyan.

As regards the length of your stay, I would recommend at least a week to ensure appropriate recovery from the journey before embarking on your return. As a son of Ferelden I would not want to see Your Majesty’s health endangered in any way whatsoever.

If I may offer advice, I would recommend keeping the size of your party to a minimum. I am suggesting this solely with the royal budget in mind and not the disconcertingly suspicious glances emitted by Arl Guerrin every time we meet.

Awaiting your response

_C.S.R._

 

Ser Cullen

I will be happy to extend my stay and commend your kind consideration. As for Teagan, it would indeed do no harm to leave him behind in Denerim. At least there he can make himself useful rather than sour our days with his attempts to flirt with the Inquisitor. ~~(I swear, if he tries that again I shall have him exiled. To Orlais.)~~

My visits to Skyhold have always been exceedingly pleasant, and this will prove no exception. We’ll ensure the Herald remembers this name-day for all time.

I shall see you both soon.

 

_AT_

 

 ~~Alistair~~ My King

 

It is with a flutter in my stomach that I woke this morning, realising we will be conferring together in less than a week’s time.

As I went about my day my thoughts were filled with all the matters we’ll need to examine in most scrupulous detail, and all the political developments we’ll need to catch up on. Indeed I saw these notions echoed in the Inquisitor’s eyes.

Though your visits never last long enough, we shall do our best to further foster and grow the warm relationship between our organisations.

Please keep well

 

_Your Commander_

 

Cullen

It is mere days until my departure, and I, too, must admit to a certain amount of excitement. I may even have imagined listening to your voice as you talk me through those hugely intriguing military strategies.

My enthusiasm, of course, stems solely from my passion for diplomacy. I would never find myself spending every waking moment craving your company. Or that of the Inquisitor.

No, it is purely the diplomacy I fancy.

Not long now ~~until I can squeeze my arms around you and not let go until we’re both out of breath~~

 

_Alistair_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> [Find me (and the boys) on Tumblr!](https://http://cullenstairshenanigans.t%20Tumblr.com) ʘ‿ʘ


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